


Marks and Curves

by dinowrites



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Body Hatred, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Self Harm, crowley does a concern, pretend im good at writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 19:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinowrites/pseuds/dinowrites
Summary: Aziraphale has body issues, has self harmed, Crowley is sad about it





	Marks and Curves

There was a sharp pang in Aziraphale's back as he adjusted in his seat. He winced, but tried to hide it from the demon sat across from him. However, he was unsuccessful in his attempts.  
"Angel, are you alright?"  
"Yes dear, I'm fine. A bit... stiff, that's all."  
Crowley wasn't going to press, until he noticed the angel wince again.  
"Angel, you're in pain. I can see it in your face."  
"It's nothing dear, I'm quite alright, I swear."  
"I could help, y'know. I mean, I could give you a massage. If you wanted one, of course."  
Aziraphale could tell the demon was being sincere in his offer, so he gave in.  
"Oh, alright then."  
Crowley sat upright and spread his legs a bit before patting the front of the seat.  
"Come. Sit."  
The angel got up and sat cross legged on the floor in front of Crowley.  
"Angel, you've got on three top layers. I can't properly do anything through all these clothes."  
Aziraphale flushed a bit before he sputtered out an answer.  
"You- you want me to- to take off my shirt?"  
"Yeah, it'll be easier to massage your back and shoulders that way."  
"Oh- oh yeah."  
Aziraphale slowly took off his overcoats, but left on his shirt, making sure the sleeves were all the way down his arms.  
"Angel, is there any reason you're so nervous to take your shirt off? We've known each other for six thousand years. I'm not gonna judge you."  
"Dear, I find that hard to believe. I'm- everyone judges me."  
"Oh Angel-"  
"Crowley dear, don't- for once, please don't lie to me, or say something purely to please me. I'm not conventionally attractive and I'm- I'm soft and I'm oversized."  
At this point in time, Aziraphale has started tearing up and was close to crying. Crowley was also close to crying, but not out of pity. He couldn't believe how anyone could be blind to the beauty of his angel. He stepped over said angel and sat on the floor in front of him.  
"Oh Angel. The fact that anyone could hate the way you look is impossible and downright stupid. You are the most beautiful being in all of existence."  
Crowley had thought- no. Known. Crowley had known this fact since he first met Aziraphale on top of the Garden wall. He'd been afraid to admit his love for the angel- for his angel- for sixty centuries. But if any time was good to admit the maybe, kind of, tiny, small attraction- alright, very big crush- he'd had for the angel, he supposed it was now.  
"Crowley, you- you're just saying that to cheer me up."  
"I am saying it to cheer you up, angel. But I'm also telling you the truth. It hurts me to think that anyone would call your attributes imperfections. All of your soft edges are what make you so beautiful. The way the sun shines on you, the way your freckles are spattered across your face, the way your hair curls and fluffs, angel, all of it's perfect. I've been wanting to say that for six thousand years."  
Aziraphale was now crying, and still pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, as if afraid to show Crowley his arms.  
"Are you gonna take your shirt off so I can give you that massage?"  
"Oh- oh, I suppose so, dear."  
Aziraphale unbuttoned his top and pulled it off of his shoulders, but didn't take his arms out of the sleeves. Crowley didn't notice this at first. He was too busy drinking in the way the soft light of the bookshop lit up his angel's shoulders and made every freckle across his torso that much more obvious and beautiful.  
"Breathtaking. Angel, you're- well I suppose you're divine."  
Aziraphale messed with the sleeves of his half-on shirt some more.  
"Thank you dear. I- No one's actually complimented my appearance before."  
"I don't know how. You look- Aziraphale?"  
"Y- Yes dear?"  
"Why do you still have your arms covered?"  
"I- well I-"  
Aziraphale, who had previously stopped crying, had started again.  
"I'm just afraid of what you'll think of them."  
"Your arms?"  
"My- my scars, dear."  
"You're scars? Angel- Oh no angel please-"  
Crowley gently grabbed Aziraphale's arms and finished removing the angel's shirt. Upon uncovering the freckled appendages, he saw them. Dozens of small, white scars, scattered over the skin in no order, though every one looked deliberate. Crowley started crying.  
"It's just- sometimes the remarks and my own negative thoughts about my body get to me. Six millennia of- of almost exclusively negative, angry remarks about my form can hurt, dear."  
Crowley was at a loss for words. How had he not noticed the angel's self hatred? How had he never seen these scars before? How ignorant of his angel had he been?  
"Angel-"  
Crowley gently lifted Aziraphale's right arm and started kissing the scars. Soft, tender pecks, filled with six thousand years' worth of love and affection.  
"Crowley- I- I'm sorry."  
"Don't be sorry, Angel."  
"But-"  
"Demon's aren't technically supposed to feel love. Or whatever this soft feeling in my chest is. But Aziraphale, angel, my angel, I love you. Every imperfection and mark and scar on your body- they're what make you so- you. And I love that."  
He kissed tears from the angels cheeks.  
"Still want that massage, angel?"


End file.
